Don't Put A Ring On It
by starsandgutters
Summary: Finn is getting married and Kurt is the best man. But Kurt wants to kiss the bride... er, groom. A/N: Thanks go to rebness for betaing this.
1. Chapter 1

**(Don't)**** Put A Ring On It**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

When Kurt Hummel's doorbell rang that Friday evening, he was expecting it to be his neighbour asking for sugar again. Miss Bartlett came to ask him for cups of sugar every other day ever since she had determined that Kurt was gay; Kurt was 98% positive she only did it to make sure he wasn't engaging in any 'unnatural' shenanigans. Nasty old hag.

Not that he had many shenanigans to cover up, if he was being honest. Ever since his breakup with Blaine, he had been on lots of dates, but none of them had developed into an actual relationship. Either the guys would be too closeted or too outrageous, too boring or too snooty; and most of them were expecting to have him in bed by the end of the first date, which Kurt wasn't down with. He realised that it was a terribly provincial attitude for a New York guy, but he just—he wasn't like that; never had been. He found one-night stands so depressing. As for Epic Romance, that was harder to come by; he'd thought he had it with Blaine, really had it, and the crashing down had been spectacular. Nowadays, he was a little more cautious about wearing his heart on his sleeve.

Huffing, he got up from the couch and went to answer the door, planning to tell Miss Bartlett that he had recently been diagnosed with diabetes and had consequently banned sugar from his cupboard, but the doorstep was remarkably hag-free, and just as remarkably occupied by Finn Hudson.

Kurt did a double-take. Of course it wasn't unusual for Finn to show up at his door, especially considering they had shared this flat for the first two years of college, but it was pretty surprising that Finn would show up tonight—four days before his wedding.

"Hey there. Um, can I…?" The boy – the man, Kurt corrected himself, because there was a kind of somber edge to Finn's face that he had somehow failed to notice while they were still living together – let himself in without waiting for an answer.

"Sure thing." Kurt closed the door behind him, watching Finn curiously as he went to sit on the couch, sprawling on it like he'd done every night for months. "What's up? Not that I'm not glad to see you, but we picked your wedding outfit two weeks ago, and I rather thought you'd spend these precious days practising your vows."

Finn rolled his eyes. "I should. Quinn will probably kill me if I get them wrong."

Kurt grimaced in sympathy and said nothing, because yes, Quinn probably would.

He was still having a bit of trouble adjusting to the fact that Finn was about to marry Quinn Fabray: everything had happened so quickly that he doubted whether Finn himself had even really wrapped his head around the idea.

It seemed like this was the outcome of a haphazard chain of facts that had come tumbling one after the other; a chain that had started right after graduation, when they had all been giddy with high hopes and brand-new adulthood.

Kurt and Rachel were headed for New York and their dreams of glory. Rachel and Finn had still been an item back then, and everyone thought they were endgame, Finn included. That was why he'd gambled and enrolled at a New York college even though he'd never planned to, trying to keep up with his talented, high-maintenance girlfriend. And he'd almost managed. _Almost_.

Rachel and Finn had spent their first year in college breaking up and making up, which was nothing new really, but slowly it had started to morph into something different. Rachel was in love with the city and working herself to the bone to hit the big time on Broadway, and Finn… was just Finn. Too meek, too normal, too Ohio. Eventually they had each come to their own conclusion: Rachel had decided Finn wasn't trying hard enough, Finn had grown certain he would never _be_ enough.

The breakup had been amicable, but Finn had never been the same. Kurt, worried but unable to do anything about it, had watched him grow restless and unsatisfied, his carefree demeanor gradually chipped down by the bitter knowledge that he had tried to be special enough for Rachel's New York dreams, and he had failed.

Near the end of the second year of college, Finn – despite Kurt's most heartfelt attempts to dissuade him – had dropped out and started working at Starbucks. He'd learned how to make damn fine coffee, but it had done nothing to ease his dissatisfaction.

And then in the spring of the following year, while Kurt was busy studying for finals, Finn had taken a two-week vacation and gone back to Lima, where he'd run into Quinn, who was also back there for a spell, and things had just happened. Kurt wondered if there was something in the DNA of certain people – he mentally categorised them as 'Kens' and 'Barbies' – that compelled them to keep falling back on each other, in spite of a history of several failed attempts at being a couple.

By September they were entertaining a long-distance relationship while Finn gathered his things in New York. Kurt had been pretty sad to see him go; finding a new housemate would be hard, after sharing for so long with one of his best friends, not to mention stepbrother. They'd had a lot of practice living together back in high-school, and they'd only grown more and more comfortable with each other as time passed, in spite of the painfully obvious differences between them.

By the time winter rolled around, Finn and Quinn were engaged. Finn had proposed to her on New Year's Eve, which Kurt maintained was absolutely corny, but secretly envied. Quinn had accepted without losing a moment: after all, this had more or less been her plan since freshman year of high school. They'd told their families and friends, received the obligatory congratulations, then proceeded to make a down payment on an apartment with Finn's Starbucks money and – for the most part, to be honest – Mrs. Fabray's divorce money.

Which brought them to the present point: four days away from the date of the wedding – to be celebrated on the 20th of March in Lima, Ohio – and one Finn Hudson sprawled on Kurt's couch in New York.

A Finn who declared: "I have a problem."

Kurt frowned. "A problem so grievous that you had to fly all the way here? Did you manage to somehow destroy all the cummerbunds in the state of Ohio?"

"What? No!"

"Don't tell me: Quinn suddenly decided she wants a designer wedding gown but you spent everything on the down payment for the apartment and she wants me to sew her one from scratch. Not that I couldn't, it would just be a rush."

"No, dude, it's just…"

Kurt gasped. "Dad decided he wants the first dance with the bride? I have to somehow talk him out of it! Not that you'd do a much better job, but sadly you _have_ to dance with the bride, so…"

"Your dad is fine, Kurt, it's only…"

"Oh my God! Carole is still angry at Quinn for lying to you about the baby and they got into a catfight the way that future wives and mother-in-laws are bound to, and now Quinn is bald à la Britney?"

"What…"

"I didn't think Carole had it in her, but even so, I'm sure we could find some marvellous hair extensions, just let me phone Mercedes and-"

"Kurt—Kurt, stop!" Finn yelled, the sudden outburst finally arresting Kurt in his increasingly dramatic rambles. Finn looked at him for a while, uneasy, running his hands over his thighs nervously. And then he dropped the bomb.

"I don't think I wanna get married anymore."

In the stunned silence that followed the words, Kurt blinked once, then twice, then he croaked: "But… the wedding is in four days!" which was probably stating the obvious, but also seemed pretty damned important right now.

"I… I know. I know, okay? It's just—everything is such a mess. I don't, I don't even know what I want. I should be happy, right? I should be in seventh heaven, whatever that means – God knows Quinn is having the time of her life picking flower arrangements and crap – but I just don't… I just don't _feel_ it. You know?"

Kurt sat down on the opposite end of the couch, breathing deeply, because while it was like Finn to suddenly have some big identity crisis and turn the world upside down, this? This was taking it to a whole new level.

"Finn—are you asking me to understand how it would be okay for you to propose to someone and then stand them up at the altar out of sheer panic? Because I honestly don't think I can. I actually think that if you do that I may have to shun you for a considerable amount of time, and then give Quinn a makeover and call you nasty names in front of her."

Finn ran his hands through his hair, frustrated, looking every bit like a trapped animal. "I know. I know it's shitty and I'm acting like a fucking immature little kid, but it's just…" his voice died. He took a deep breath and started over: "It's not so recent as it seems. I started having second thoughts as soon as I asked her. I even told her, but she…"

"She told you to man up and see it through," Kurt nodded. It wasn't a question. It was such a Quinn thing to do—once she could see a chance for her plans to unfold, she wouldn't give up until everyone else agreed with her.

"Yeah. She said it was just nervousness, which seemed a good explanation as any, and I thought it would pass, except… it didn't." He looked up with sheepish eyes. It failed to impress Kurt in the least.

"And so you thought that this was the appropriate time to change your mind,' he said, his voice sharp. "And not even openly, you just, what, sneaked out of the house and jumped on a plane?"

"Kurt, come on, give me a break, would you?" Finn sounded desperate. "I didn't even change my mind, I'm just—I'm just stuck and confused and I feel like crap and I needed to talk to someone, okay? Is that such a big deal? When I lived here, we used to talk stuff over all the time!"

The accusation lingered in the air for a moment. It was true. They'd been a pretty good team. Finn had listened, with surprising patience, whenever Kurt ranted and bitched about incompetent talent-seekers who couldn't see the potential of his voice, pretentious jerks who thought, just because they were born in New York, that they knew everything about fashion, and slutty guys who tried to charm their way into his designer pants. Kurt, on the other hand, had taken care of Finn during the Big Rachel Breakdown, nursed him back to soberness whenever he'd get caught up in some stupid frat house party and come home wasted, and seen to it that the boy didn't poison himself with a dietary regime of Snickers and Slim Jims. Yeah, all in all… a pretty good team.

And even though a teenage era spent watching romantic comedies about assholes who abandoned their girlfriends at the altar was suggesting that he kick Finn out the door, the sight of his closest friend about to break into pieces on his couch was more than enough to melt his resolve.

He scooted closer, stroking Finn's hair once, soothingly, and asked: "What is this really about, Finn? Is it… are you not over Rachel yet? Because honestly I thought we'd been there and done that…"

"No. No, it's not Rachel. At first I thought it was, because man, that was heartbreak with a big H, but just… I look at her picture and I know there's nothing for me there, not anymore. And that's okay. It feels strange to say it, but it really is okay."

"Okay. Then… what is it?"

Finn took a shuddering breath, looking like he wanted to curl up into a ball on Kurt's lap, which considering his size was not only unadvisable but probably dangerous. When he spoke up his voice was quiet, subdued.

"I don't want to be a Lima loser."

"Oh, Finn-"

"It's just—I just—I was so sure that I was destined to something bigger. Something better. Something more than a house in the suburbs and a blue-collar life, a mortgage and 2.5 kids." He breathed in deeply, like he was seconds away from crying. "Except—except I'm not. I tried to live the high life like you and Rachel and Mercedes, but as much as I tried, it always seemed like I was lacking, and I just can't keep up, and I thought I could be okay with it but I'm not, not really. I don't belong in New York, and I don't belong in Lima, and now it's all a mess and Kurt, what do I do?" The last word sounded strangled, and tears actually brimmed in Finn's eyes, which was okay, since a huge lump seemed to have appeared in Kurt's throat, too. For a while he just patted Finn's shoulder, enjoying the warmth radiating from his overgrown body, and trying to figure out what to say, because this really was a mess.

Eventually he swallowed and, looking out of the corner of his eye for a reaction, asked quietly: "Do you love Quinn?"

"Yeah." Finn replied immediately. "Yes, I love her, it's just—it doesn't feel like…"

Kurt sighed. "Like fireworks and violins and sappy choirs of angels?"

Finn nodded.

"Look, Finn… I hate to break it to you, but real life is not like in the movies." Finn opened his mouth to speak, but Kurt quickly second-guessed him: "And don't start in with your misguided theory on how Braveheart applies to all social situations. Listen, you got into something big here, and if you ever want to make it out of this mess, you have to snap out of this… romantic teenaged notion that love is supposed to change the world for you. If you care about Quinn, and she cares about you, that should be enough."

Finn looked at him, slightly resentful, slightly ironic. "You don't think that's a bit rich, coming from you?"

And yeah, okay, Finn had a point; Kurt was, after all, the one who had broken it off with Blaine after more than a year, precisely because it didn't feel like fireworks, violins and sappy angelic choirs.

"That was different. Blaine and I were…" he waved a hand around. "And you and Quinn, you are... well, you're getting married!" he concluded a bit lamely, because that seemed to be the most relevant difference his brain could think of.

Finn shook his head, slumping back against the couch. "I'm a mess." he whispered.

Kurt could feel his heart beginning to ache with the bitterness of the situation, so he forced his voice to be chipper: "Look Finn, this is ridiculous. It is the easiest thing in the world for a man – especially a straight one – to freak out before tying the knot. It's a big step, but I'm inclined to think Quinn is right: you're just panicking, and it will all be right as rain soon enough. okay?"

"Yeah." Finn smiled weakly, an utterly false smile, like there was something he was holding out on, but Kurt knew from experience that if that was indeed the case, he had little hope to make the other guy fess up until he spontaneously decided to. So instead he got up and grabbed his jacket.

"Get up, you big lug, I'm taking you out to meet a friend of mine."

"A friend? Like, a girl?" Finn marvelled, eyes wide.

"No, Finn. Actually, not a girl."

"Oh. What's his name then?"

"Jack Daniels."

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><p><strong>TBC<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

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><p>Two hours later, they were sitting at the counter of a nearby bar with a considerable amount of empty shot glasses in front of them, the bitterness and tension melted for the time being.<p>

Kurt was feeling tipsy and happy in a surreal kind of way, and Finn was laughing and drunkenly recounting some adventure or other that happened back in Lima, featuring Artie, Brittany and a huge rubber duck, and for a moment Kurt could see the old Finn again – carefree and honest and enthusiastic – instead of bitter and washed-out at the age of 21. And God, had he missed the sight.

They stumbled back into their old apartment, trying and failing miserably to keep quiet for Miss Bartlett's benefit, and collapsed on the couch, still giggling. Well, Kurt was, at any rate, because Finn seemed to have suddenly grown very quiet, and kept just _looking_ at him.

After a while, Kurt noticed and snorted in a rather undignified manner. "What? What's the matter? Do I have salt on my nose?" He went a little cross-eyed trying to look down at it. "I'm terrible at drinking tequila, you know that, I just…" his voice trailed off, because Finn was still quiet and strangely sombre for someone who was completely drunk – although to be fair it took a considerably bigger amount of alcohol to knock the giant dork on his ass.

Kurt wanted to ask again, but his throat had gone strangely dry. Finn was still looking at him with an almost scary intensity, his eyes very dark and his cheeks very pink, and then he licked his lips once and said quietly: "I like guys."

Kurt frowned minutely. Three totally common words, but combined together like that they made no sense whatsoever. "Finn, you…"

"I don't know when it started. I don't know if it was all the time, or if… And I'm totally blown – like hurricane-plus-tornado blown – but it's true. I like guys."

Kurt shook his head, because really, it was always up to him to fix Finn's mistakes. "You don't like guys. You like_girls._ Because you're straight!" he said, poking Finn in the chest, pretty proud of his logical abilities even when drunk. "And straight guys like girls." The old pang somewhere between his ribs. It never really went away, did it?

Finn nodded, frowning a little, but obviously agreeing. "Yeah. Girls are… I like girls." Kurt smiled pleasedly. There. All fixed. "…I like guys, too."

Kurt did such a powerful double-take he almost fell off the couch. "Finn!" he squeaked. "Stop it! It's not funny."

"Dude. You're telling me. It's like poet… poem… epic justice."

"Poetic. And you don't like guys. Really, Finn!" he scoffed.

"Yeah, really. I've had these dreams, you know… so vivid, it's like being 15 all over again, except with the wrong gender. In one of them-"

"I don't want to _know_!" Kurt covered his ears, then dropped his hands when he realised he couldn't hear his own voice. "I don't want to know about your… your wet dreams. Look, Finn…" he took a cleansing breath. "All of this stuff…? It's just because you're messed up!"

Finn shook his head, still strangely composed, which was irritating, considering he was usually unable to move without his limbs flying all over and producing casualties. "No," he said shaking his head. "No—other way 'round. I think actually that I'm messed up _because_ of this."

"Oh, don't be an idiot. Look, it makes sense. Say you've been feeling trapped by your life; by your impending wedding, which is about the epitome of everything straight. Say you feel unsatisfied with yourself. Say your brain– whose functioning I gave up trying to understand _years_ ago – decides to convince you of this just so you have an excuse for feeling so confused-"

"Say I went to this gay bar and made out with a dude and got hard from it?"

Kurt choked on his spit. "What?" he shrieked, because _what_!

Finn nodded solemnly. "Totally. I know it was wrong 'cos I was dating Quinn and everything, but I had to—I had to _know._ And… yeah. I guess I'm, uh, yeah. Bi."

Kurt closed his eyes, trying to think beyond the tidal wave of freak-out that was building behind them. "Okay. You… you're bi. What does this even have to do with anything? Quinn will be okay with it, as long as you don't bring it up in front of her mother, her friends and possibly any shared acquaintances you have. So she's the one you should be telling. Why are you here at all? Why are you telling _me_?"

Finn's mouth did that thing where his lips quirked up, except it was too rueful to really be called a smile. He leaned closer, only a little, and when he spoke his voice was softer. "Don't you know? Kurt… can't you tell?"

"Tell _what_?" Kurt complained, annoyed, except a moment later it all clicked into place. The intense way Finn had been looking at him. The fact that the tips of his ears had been blushing all the time they were out drinking, something which was usually reserved for particularly interesting reruns of _Baywatch_. His shy, awkward posture on the couch right now and-

"Oh my _God._Oh my sweet, sweet Gaga!" he gasped, feeling suddenly painfully sober. "Finn, you're not—you aren't—you're not _attracted_ to me, are you?

"Dude." This time it was a real smile, the trademark Hudson smirk. "Took you long enough."

Kurt shot up from the couch, clutching a pillow to his chest. "No. This is a joke. It's sick. _You__'__re_ sick. What do you even think you're _doing_, getting engaged and then crashing through my door with your identity crisis and your sob-story of broken dreams and your newly embraced bisexuality? I don't want to be _in_ this mess!"

"Kurt, man, calm down, I just…" Finn got up in turn, his hands raised in a peace offering. "I'm not gonna make you_do_ anything! I just thought maybe… I know that you used to like me, you know, way way back, and so I figured that maybe…"

"Maybe? Maybe _what,_ Finn?" Kurt could feel his shock turn into anger. "Oh, I see it now! You're dealing with the scary, evil non-conventional sexuality, so you thought you'd come here and get your kicks from the faggy stepbrother, because of course I'm so desperate that I have nothing better to do than pander to your hard-ons, and furthermore I'm friends with both you and Quinn, so I won't say anything-"

"Stop it!" Finn yelled, grabbing him by the arm. It was done in desperation more than actual anger, but the height and bulk of the other man were still enough to shut Kurt up momentarily. "That's not what… it's not… it's not a fucking _experiment_! Didn't you listen? I already _have_ experimented! Do you think I would do that to you? Think I would just, I would _use_ you like that? After… after everything?"

Finn sounded genuinely hurt, and Kurt, irate as he was, had to admit it didn't sound like something the other man would do. He ran his hands across his face, sighing wearily. "No, I don't think that. Sorry. But… this is crazy. Totally, totally crazy. Let's just… let's go to sleep and forget all about it, and tomorrow you're going to go back to Lima and to your fiancée."

Finn's face fell and his mouth worked soundlessly, like he was trying to get something out but it hurt too much to make sense. "But… but I _miss_ you!" he whispered eventually, his voice breaking a little. "I didn't even know at first, because I was so used to being around you, but I miss you so freaking much…! I'll be doing something –anything – just watching TV or talking to Quinn or our parents, and then I realise you're not there and it's like—it's like all the air got sucked out of the room." He looked at Kurt, totally lost.

Kurt swallowed, feeling his eyes start to sting, and no, he really had to avoid this, truly. He couldn't let Finn get to him. That wasn't something he _did_ anymore. So what if he felt exactly the same way? So what if he missed even the stupidest littlest things like drinking warm milk together at the kitchen counter? It didn't matter. None of it mattered.

"Finn, I…" he tried to say as much, but his locked throat would not cooperate, and Finn moved closer, a way-too-tall presence in his personal space, taking Kurt's hands in his large, impossibly warm ones, thumbs rubbing soothingly.

"Please, Kurt..." He really needed to stop being so devastatingly, annoyingly earnest. He also needed to stop leaning forward like that because it was way too close, _way_ too close. "I know you still like me. I can tell…"

Kurt considered slapping him across the face for the sheer arrogance of that, except it wasn't arrogance, not really, it was just Finn being Finn, running his mouth with whatever his heart was feeling. And God, he was right, too, wasn't he?

He didn't realise a tear was rolling down his cheek until Finn's fingers dried it, and then he was standing up on tiptoe and tilting his head back and Finn was leaning down and they were _kissing._

It took Kurt's brain a good few seconds to catch up with the rest of his body; to register that Finn's lips were warm and full and a little chapped, and his mouth was wet and inviting, and—wow, he sure could use his tongue. Of course it made sense that Finn would be a practiced kisser, considering his girlfriends always took an insanely long amount of time before even letting him get to second base, but Kurt hadn't expected him to be quite _that_good.

Not that it would have mattered, really, because when your longest-standing, never-fulfilled crush – who incidentally happens to _also_ be your first love – lays one on you out of the blue, chances are you'll think it's the most amazing kiss ever, even if he has all the technique and finesse of an orang-utan. Kurt, it turned out, was no exception to the aforementioned rule, if the shaky feeling in his knees was anything to judge by.

Finn had one arm around his waist, holding him steady, and Kurt's hands found their way to the back of his t-shirt and made fists there, clinging tightly as he licked into Finn's mouth, tasting, discovering.

They really should stop, Kurt knew as much. They should at least stop to _breathe,_ if nothing else. Except he didn't wantto stop, not ever. Finn's lips left his with a soft, wet 'smack', and he kissed the line of Kurt's jaw before catching his bottom lip between his teeth and nibbling on it, and Kurt actually _moaned._

His hands dropped to Finn's hips, sliding under the t-shirt to caress hot skin. A pant escaped from Finn's lips into his own, and Kurt felt himself get aroused, just from that. It was unacceptable, that's what it was. This hadn't happened to him since he was sixteen, for heaven's sake, back when he was lusting over—oh. Right, yes.

"Finn… Finn, I-" he tried weakly pushing the other guy away, because he was _not_ going to face the humiliation of being freaked out on when Finn realized he was hard, but Finn was apparently having none of it.

"It's okay. We… it's fine, totally fine…" he mumbled, in-between sucking at Kurt's neck, slowly working his way towards the hickey of the century; he started maneuvering Kurt away from the living room, and they stumbled and shuffled towards the kitchen, not really knowing why.

Finn pushed him with his back to the kitchen counter – still kissing, always kissing, tongues touching, open-mouthed and dirty – and when he pressed his body flush against Kurt's it became painfully clear that he had good reason to be okay with Kurt's arousal, a very obvious, very concrete reason currently poking into Kurt's thigh.

"You're-" Kurt half-gasped into the kiss.

"Told ya," said Finn, lightly, but the pink in his cheeks grew one shade darker. "Is it, um, are you…?" he inquired, probably reliving every indignant shriek he'd ever received from outraged girlfriends.

"Totally," Kurt reassured quickly, slinging his arms around Finn's neck and pulling him back down into the kiss. A moment later, Finn's fingers were undoing his shirt buttons, fumbling a little and _oh my God, Finn Hudson was stripping him._

And okay, that maybe unhinged his reason a bit, because maybe, just maybe, his hand snuck down all by itself and started palming Finn through his jeans, and then Finn was groaning and kissing along his exposed collarbone, and this was so, so wrong but oh, it felt so fucking right.

Kurt hooked his thumbs into Finn's t-shirt, tugging determinedly. "Off. _Now._"

Finn immediately raised his arms, but by the time the fabric hit the floor he already had his hands all over Kurt's chest, stroking, squeezing his hips, mapping out the pale expanse.

A shiver ran through Kurt's body as he kissed down Finn's jaw, every sensation shooting straight to his groin. He made a noise in the back of his throat that he hoped didn't fully qualify as a whimper, because he needed to be touched like _yesterday._

"Fiiinn…"

"Yes… yeah."

Finn looked a little dazed, pupils blown wide with desire, but eventually he accomplished with the indirect plea. Strong arms wrapped around Kurt's waist, hoisting him up on the counter, moving in even closer when the slighter man spread his knees apart, their erections finally pressed flush together.

And Kurt was about to take control, he really was, but apparently Finn, although coming from a life of straight-like-an-arrowness, was familiar enough with the concept of grinding, and – _oh,fuck, yes!_ – so he tightened his hold on the other man's neck and just went with it, shifting, arching, as Finn drove his hips into Kurt's over and over, faster, harder and then—

-and then Kurt moaned and threw his head back, helpless, and he came. In his pants. In his expensive, expensive pants, and he would have been beating Finn to death with a kitchen spatula right then, if he hadn't still been tingling with the post-coital buzz.

When the ringing in his ears subsided and his eyes regained focus, he noticed Finn was still standing close, very much not freaking out, looking like a cat who ate _the entire fucking supply_ of cream, and with a mess in his jeans to match Kurt's.

They were breathing heavy, arms still encircling each other, lips less than an inch apart—and that should have been the moment when they started kissing all over again, slow and heady, but…

As Finn leaned in, Kurt stopped him, his hands vice-firm on the other man's shoulders.

"Finn," he whispered, mortified. "What are we doing?"

"Well, we…we… you know…?" Finn made a terribly vague gesture, looking honestly amazed that he had to explain this to Kurt.

"_No_, Finn!" Kurt gave him a little shove, hopping down from the counter. "I mean, _what are we doing?_ You're getting _married_! In _three_ days!"

"Three and a half," Finn protested, sullen.

"It doesn't _matter_!" Kurt hated the way that the more heated his voice got, the higher it rose, and it was doing nothing to lessen his frustration. "What the _hell_ are you thinking? You can't just, can't just—you're going to walk down an aisle and say vows and-"

"But I don't want to!"

"I don't care! You should have thought about it before—and what, do you think you can just show up here and expect us to, expect me to—you're an idiot!"

"Back the hell up, I didn't hear you say 'no' or anything, so-"

"So _what_, Finn? It doesn't make it okay for you to screw everyone's lives up because of your eternal indecision! Your problem, Finn, is that you don't know what you want!" Kurt bent to retrieve Finn's t-shirt from the floor, trying – somehow, someway – to fix the mess, make it disappear.

"Yes, I do!" Finn was getting angry too, his voice louder, his jaw set hard. "It seems pretty damn obvious to me, that _this_ is what I want. And you know it, so stop being such a hypocrite!"

"Yes, fine. Of course. This is what you want. I'm sure it's your deepest aspiration to be my boyfriend and march in the annual gay parade."

"I'm—I'm getting there, okay? This is still pretty new to me, all I know is that I want to be with you and…"

Kurt didn't let him finish. "Exactly, Finn! This is new to you! You've been feeling this way for, how long now? One week? Two? Three, tops? It's not the same for me, Finn! It's not weeks for _me!_ Try months. Try _years._And I'm not even sure I ever—_God_!" He wasn't sure when he'd started shouting, but he couldn't seem to stop.

"You don't know what it was like, Finn! You can't even _imagine__—_just… just watching you everyday and… well I'm not going back there! I'm not going to let you in, only to fall on my ass and watch you go back to the comfortable straight life the moment you get tired of this!" he yelled, his eyes stinging dangerously, his chest heaving.

Finn was staring at him wide-eyed, open-mouthed, any fight blown out of him under the weight of Kurt's distress. He looked like he was aching somewhere, and had no band-aid to make it better.

"But Kurt…" he said, weakly, his voice raw with feeling. "Kurt, I lo-"

"Don't!" Kurt's eyes widened in fear, as if Finn were about to fling a curse at him. "Don't," he repeated in a whisper. He took the step separating him from the tall man and shoved the crumpled t-shirt in his hands.

"Go sleep in your room," he ordered, his voice carefully even. "You're getting on the first plane back to Lima tomorrow morning."

"Kurt…"

"_No._"

He headed towards his bedroom, ignoring the way Finn was clutching at his t-shirt like a little kid whose dog had just died, and the quiet defeat in his simple "I'm sorry."

"Me too. Go to bed, Finn. It's the right thing to do."

But later on, as he lay awake in bed, waiting for tears that wouldn't come, he couldn't help but wonder, _right for whom?_

The next morning neither of them talked much. Kurt made coffee, and Finn managed to finish all of Kurt's cornflakes, which Kurt was pretty sure had been more than half the box.

Then Finn called a taxi, picked up his backpack, and in a matter of minutes Kurt was closing the door on him, slumping against it.

That was when the tears came.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

><p>Kurt arrived in Lima at half past 4 in the afternoon on the 19th of March, after spending two days with far too many thoughts and far too little sleep. His complexion was shot to <em>hell.<em>

He had booked a hotel room, because there was no way he was sleeping in the same house as Finn on the night before his wedding. Especially since… yeah, since _that_ had happened.

Finn had accepted his decision without saying anything. Of course, their parents had been baffled, but Kurt had solved the problem by convincing his father that in New York etiquette it was considered bad luck for the best man to have _any_ contact with the groom before the wedding.

The hotel was the best to be had in Lima, which meant it was still pretty lame. He went up to the so-called 'suite', which turned out to be really a spacious bedroom with a couch and a table in one corner, and unpacked his things just to have something to do.

Thankfully, he had picked out his outfit more than a month ago (in fact, only a week after Finn had asked him to be the best man) because nowadays he was too distracted to focus on fashion. As things stood, though, the outfit was_impeccable_, and sure to be far more glamorous than anything anyone else would wear. True, it would have been good etiquette not to try and outshine the bride, but he was a guy, so he was counting himself out of that rule, and if he looked stunning, well, too bad so sad.

In spite of that small consolation, though, Kurt found himself absolutely restless. As agitated as he'd been these past few days, he had had no idea that sitting here and _waiting_ would be the worst part.

He got dressed, then undressed, then dressed again.

He coiffed his hair in four different styles, using so much hairspray he had to take two showers in between, just to make sure he didn't burst into flames when passing someone with a lit cigarette.

He sat on the bed, he got up, he paced.

He sat down again and called room service, ordering a crazily elaborate salad that he wasn't sure even existed. It didn't. He told them to make it express and put it on the bill, just to be a bitch. When they finally took it up to his room he didn't eat it. His stomach was closed.

At 6.32 in the evening, he finally broke down.

He picked up the phone and dialled Burt and Carole's number. He was going to give Finn his sincerest apologies and his deepest contrition, but he would have to find himself another best man, because Kurt just _couldn__'__t._ No way was he going to be able to stand there by Finn's side and watch as Quinn walked down the aisle, radiant as always. No damn way could he smile in fond approval as the man he loved – the man he had loved since he was a boy – tied himself to someone for life. Not when the feeling of their lips pressed together was so vivid in his mind. It was more than anyone should be forced to bear.

One ring, two. It was Carole who answered.

"Carole. It's, um, it's Kurt. Is Finn in?"

"Kurt, sweetie! Hi! It's so nice to hear your voice. But wait, I thought that you being in touch with the groom was bad luck?"

"No, no, no, it's bad luck for me to _see_ the groom. For me to _talk_ to the groom is very, very good luck."

"But Burt said…"

"Carole, _please_, trust me on this. I've taken classes about it. Now can I please speak to Finn?"

"I'm sorry, honey, but Finn just left a few minutes ago… he went over to Quinn's so they can practice their vows together. I don't know when he's coming back, probably he'll have dinner over there or something?"

Kurt's heart sank. He knew he wouldn't have the courage to call a second time. He would just have to go through with this; it was the right thing to do anyway. He just wished that idiot Finn hadn't made it so damned hard.

"Thank you, Carole," he said, forcing a weak smile into his voice. "I'll just have to remind him tomorrow how to, ah, coordinate his cufflinks with his tie. Have a good night now! I'll see you in church."

He hung up and slumped down on the bed, running tired hands over his face. As he was trying to gather his thoughts, a knock came on the door. He figured the hotel staff had decided to make him pay for his $70 dollar salad right away.

He went to answer it distractedly, rifling through his backpack in search of his wallet; he found it quickly enough, then dropped his bag altogether when, looking up, he was faced with Finn Hudson.

Before he could even react in surprise, his eyes zeroed in on the man's face: he had a black eye, a cut on his bottom lip and a strangely-shaped bruise on his cheekbone.

"Hiya." Finn quirked a corner of his lips, not really a smile, but not looking too afflicted either.

"Did Puck impregnate Quinn again?", were the first words Kurt's stunned brain could think to ask.

Finn huffed through his nose, but the sound was amused.

"No. Only got myself to blame, this time. Mind if I come in?"

"Finn, we can't-"

"Actually I sort of wanted to raid the mini-bar," Finn contradicted, and Kurt could sorta understand how someone in those conditions might want a drink, so he let him in.

He watched for a moment, almost transfixed, as Finn examined the contents of the mini-bar and almost immediately picked – what an insult to tasteful mini-bars everywhere – a can of beer. Meanwhile he got a good look at the bruise on Finn's cheek. When he realised it was exactly the shape of an average-sized engagement ring, his heart shot up in his throat for a moment before sinking lower than it had before.

Kurt knew what had happened of course, but still he waited for Finn to say it; Kurt knew he would, because Finn just had to get things like these off his chest. It took about 20 seconds and 3 sips of beer.

"I told Quinn."

Kurt closed his eyes, cringing.

"She, um. She wasn't real happy about it."

"I never knew you majored in understatement."

There was a second of uncomfortable silence, then Kurt sighed. " I guess she's not quite as understanding as I thought. Do you think she's gonna make you pay for it for the rest of your married life?"

Finn looked at him like he was stupid, which was a completely alien experience in and of itself.

"Dude, we're not getting married."

"You're not—but—she left you? For what, for experimenting? For… for cheating? That's not exactly breaking news for the two of you, is it?" Kurt grappled with the surrealism of the situation and his own guilt, refusing to acknowledge just what a lost battle it was.

And Finn was giving him that irritating look again, scrutinizing him carefully, putting him on edge. "Kurt, what exactly do you think I told her?" he asked, curiously.

"That you… that you kissed a guy. Well, two guys, but… I hope you haven't actually told her it was me. She'll think I came after you. Although actually, that would probably be the best thing to salvage the situation, wouldn't it?" Kurt chuckled, slightly bitter.

Finn sighed, looking away. He didn't like it when Kurt spoke that way, Kurt knew that; it reminded him of a time way back, when there had been name-calling and dumpster-tossing, and he still felt guilty about all that. _Good_, Kurt thought, feeling peculiarly unmerciful right now.

The tall man was playing with the empty can of beer, pensive, the little crease between his eyebrows indicating he was troubled by something; then it smoothed out as he crushed the can and looked back up, his eyes clear and guileless, boyish.

"I told her I was in love with someone else," he said.

All of the air in Kurt's lungs seemed to rush out at once, leaving him dizzy. _He didn__'__t._

"I'm sorry I told her it was you, I guess. But it doesn't really matter who it is, does it? You don't get married if you're in love with somebody else. Pretty simple."

That idiot. That utter, dumb idiot. Who did something as stupid as that? Just Finn. Possibly a particularly slow and half-lethargic moose, but mostly only Finn.

"I know you told me no," said Finn, ploughing on relentlessly. "I know that. And I'm not expecting you to change your mind. But this isn't about you, it's about me. I can't lie to Quinn like that. Being married to someone is supposed to be for real, so I can't marry her. Right now I can't marry anyone."

Kurt swallowed, and he figured he should probably say something, except he couldn't speak. Actually, he felt like he might very well never speak again. He just stared at Finn, dumbstruck, hardly breathing.

But Finn seemed to be done with his big speech, loosely clasping his hands together between his knees, the solemnity seeping out of his face as he quirked as a rueful smile. "Still, Quinn kicked me out and I don't really wanna go home, because then I'd have to explain to Mom and Burt how I single-handedly screwed up everything, so… can I crash here for the night? You got a couch in here, after all."

Kurt blinked, for the first time allowing the situation to really sink in past the absurdity of it all. He didn't have to go to the wedding; there _would be_ no wedding. Because Finn had called it off. Because he'd rather spend the night in a mediocrely decorated hotel room, with _him._ He licked his lips. His heart seemed to have only just remembered how to beat, and was doing so at an amazing speed.

"Yeah. Yeah, you can… you can crash here."

He sat on the bed next to Finn, resting his hands on the covers, allowing their fingers to brush when Finn did the same.

"Man. This time I really screwed up, huh?" the voice was earnest.

A small smile. "Yes, Finn. I believe this is what one would refer to as a screw-up of epic proportions."

"Yeah. Well, I don't regret it. And I still haven't given up hope that I could get something out of this in the end."

Kurt could feel Finn's eyes on him even without looking his way. It felt like every single cell in his body was tired of resisting, so he didn't; he leaned his body into the solid warmth beside him and allowed his tense muscles to relax.

"Maybe you will," he murmured. "But still, Finn Hudson, it's pretty foolhardy to ruin your own wedding just to get a one-night-stand…" he added, glancing sideways, because even though he might _hope_, he couldn't let himself believe Finn's words. Not yet, at least.

Finn looked at him warmly, leaving him with no doubt that his careful decoy had been seen clear through; but he seemed to be giving Kurt a free pass, because he just grinned and said, "Well, then… you better make it a damn good one."

The bed in the room was only a queen-size, but it looked comfortable. As Kurt pulled the covers back neatly, his stomach fluttered the whole time. He couldn't believe this was happening, _actually_ happening. In truth, he had fantasized about it so many times he had absolutely no idea what to expect.

He looked over to where Finn was standing with that quirky smile of his, awkward and tall and handsome and _real_, and he couldn't help the smile spreading on his own face. He patted the bedcovers one last time, then walked over to Finn. They came together easily, like Finn was oxygen and Kurt had spent the last three days underwater.

Finn licked into his mouth hungrily, until Kurt needed to catch his breath, then moved on to pepper the side of his face with quick, soft kisses that somehow managed to leave Kurt breathless all over again. His hands wandered to Kurt's jacket.

"Is this the kind of suit that costs more than my Xbox? Because then you should probably get it off yourself…"

Kurt chuckled. "Yes, Finn. It is that kind of suit." He gently pushed Finn away, shrugging out of his jacket, then swiftly undoing the tiny shirt buttons, folding both items neatly. His hands paused at his belt, questioning, unsure.

"Off. Just… just take all of it off." Finn's voice was a husky, raspy murmur, his eyes shamelessly taking in every inch of naked skin as soon as it got uncovered, sending a zinging shiver down Kurt's spine.

He stepped out of the trousers and walked back to Finn in his boxers, a predatory gleam in his eyes that hadn't been there in a good, long while. "Now you," he commanded, catching hold of Finn's sweater and the hem of his t-shirt at the same time and pulling upwards, watching the play of muscle as Finn raised his arms and bent his back to go along with it. Then he threw the garments to the floor (they were Finn's, so he didn't care) and sat back on the bed to watch as Finn shed the jeans.

Finn joined him on the bed a second later, his own underwear already considerably tented, entailing an answering twitch in Kurt's. They leaned back against the pillows, kissing, eager and messy, Kurt straddling Finn's thighs gracefully as Finn ran his hands over his back hungrily, dipping down every now and then to squeeze his butt with what was clearly a whole lot of approval.

"Mmh… Kurt…"

"Yes…?"

"Do you have… stuff?"

"…wha?" Kurt asked distractedly, preoccupied with nibbling on Finn's earlobe.

"Ahh, that's… oh, hell…!" Finn closed his eyes in bliss. "I mean, you know… if you have any _stuff._"

Kurt broke it off, baffled. "Yes, Finn, I have ample amounts of 'stuff'. A suitcase, three pairs of trousers, a McQueen foulard…"

"Dude, no. I mean like, sex stuff." Finn clarified, a little flushed, and it should have been ridiculous and dorky, but all it did was turn Kurt on _stupidly._

"Oh. Ah… yes, I… I don't even know why I brought it actually. God knows I wasn't expecting to use it, but—I usually keep lube stacked together with my other toiletries…" he explained, a little bashfully. "Don't have any, um, condoms though…" he realized on the spot—and God, if they had to _go out and buy them_ he might just end up assaulting Finn smack in the middle of Walmart—but Finn reached over to the nightstand, where he'd dropped his jeans, and pulled two condoms of out of the back pocket.

Kurt cocked an eyebrow at him. "You have condoms on you."

"…yeah?"

"You came here _with condoms._ That's an awful lot of confidence right there, Hudson."

Finn smiled sheepishly.

"I should change my mind just to make you pay for _that_ little stunt."

"C'mon, dude, get off my case! It's just that when I really want something, I don't give up easy. And I wanted this a whole bunch."

"Oh, well now that changes everything: you wanted me 'a whole bunch'. What are you, sixteen?" and this was the point where Kurt would have worked himself up in a proper diva fit, if his silly, treacherous face hadn't softened of its own accord, a rush of fondness tugging his lips into a smile. And Finn saw right through it, the bastard, and grinned unrepentantly, looking like a proud puppy.

"Oh, all right, you smug douchebag."

"Cool," cheered Finn with an ear-splitting grin, then his face scrunched up in concentration. "So are you, um, an above or a below?"

Kurt blinked, only managing to make sense of the question with the help of context and a good deal of imagination. He sighed in defeat.

"Finn, promise me never to try and study gay culture by yourself again."

Finn nodded fervently.

"Good. And to answer your rather awkward question, I'm usually a bottom."

Finn nodded, arching up to peck Kurt's lips before turning them over, so that he was kneeling between Kurt's legs.

Kurt fidgeted a little, looking up at Finn past the wisps of hair falling in his eyes.

"Um, you should probably know… it's been a while since…" he trailed off, embarrassed.

"Oh, that." Finn nodded, understandingly. Then out of sheer curiosity, he added: "How long?"

Kurt sighed a little. "Since Blaine, actually."

And damn, it sounded depressing when he said it out loud, but it was true. Actually sex was kind of what had led him the two of them to fall apart, because even if Blaine was sweet and caring and a perfect gentleman, something just _didn__'__t work_ there. Maybe because Blaine thought Kurt was as sexy as a stuffed animal, or maybe because Kurt had done such a spectacular job of getting over Finn.

He cleared his voice: "I mean first there was him, and then… there weren't really a lot of people I trusted with, so…"

"It's cool," Finn promised. "And besides I've never actually slept with a guy, so you still totally have the advantage here. Oh, and Kurt…?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you. For, you know. For trusting _me_ with this."

Kurt smiled softly at his earnestness, and wondered how he'd ever thought of saying no in the first place.

He slung an arm around Finn's neck and pulled him down for another kiss, then murmured: "Go get that lube, now. And don't drop my Yves Saint-Laurent perfume."

Finn laughed, the sound young and carefree, as he got up and headed to the bathroom, making sure to lose his underwear on the way. Kurt had just finished doing the same when he came back, lube bottle held triumphantly in one hand. "No broken stuff."

"Yes, yes, I get the point, you're a major-league champ. Now get back here," Kurt cooed, spreading his knees wider to better accommodate Finn's bulk.

There was a strange, suspended moment there—Finn looming over him and just looking at him like he was something extremely unusual, or extremely enticing, or both at the same time, like a bacon-and-Nutella sandwich.

"Finn?"

"…hmm? Oh, ah, yes. It's just… I've never actually been this close to a naked dude when—when…"

"_Finnegan Hudson_. If you freak out on me _now_, I will bludgeon you to death with this horribly tacky lava lamp."

"Whoa, no, man, calm down! It's just… weird. But good weird. I mean I never thought I'd be comfortable with… but I am. And you look…" he stopped to take in the naked man in front of him again, his mind seeming to settle as his eyes moved. "You look beautiful."

Kurt blushed a little further. "Really? I mean, thank you. You're… you're totally hot, too."

'_Totally hot__'__?_ Oh, perfect. His brain had dismantled and regressed to its teenage state—marvellous.

Finn didn't seem to notice anything amiss, though, leaning in for a kiss, then nuzzling Kurt's neck, licking the still-visible hickey mark from their last encounter. Kurt let his fingers card through Finn's always-tousled hair, messing it up even more and loving it, then playing with the soft down at the nape of his neck, blissful and excited. He wanted this, so much. He'd spent the last six years of his life wanting it.

When Finn next pulled back, it was to reach for the lube. He rolled it between the palms of his hands indecisively, his brow furrowing minutely.

"You know what to do with that?"

"Yeah… yes. I mean I think I do. Only… what if I hurt you by being a klutz or something? I've never had my fingers… well, you know."

"You won't hurt me. And if you do, you'll know."

"How will I know?"

"I'll smack you. Possibly really hard."

"Oh, okay. Good." Finn nodded, with actual relief (which would have been confusing to most people, but not to Kurt, who knew just how much Finn _loved_straightforward things), before uncorking the bottle and pouring a generous quantity of clear liquid on his fingers. Kurt took a deep breath, shifting his legs to grant him the best access he could, and leaned back, trying to relax.

Things went surprisingly smoothly – in spite of his innate dorkiness, Finn was a fast learner when it came to physical stuff – and before either of them had the time to really get nervous, he had two long fingers inside of Kurt, stroking and scissoring, watching in wonderment as Kurt gasped and arched into his touch. They started kissing again, slow and careful, and when Finn found that deep-in spot, Kurt's drawn-out groan passed into his mouth, resonating with something deep inside his chest. Within minutes they were both sweating and painfully aroused, the friction of skin-on-skin maddening and delicious.

"F-Finn… Finn, I'm—if you want, I'm… I'm ready…"

"Oh, God, _please_—yes."

Kurt readjusted himself more comfortably, watching as Finn started to slick himself up.

"Wait… let me."

He leaned closer, feeling almost a tad shy, and took the other man in hand, making sure he was properly coated, because – as hands-on experience confirmed – Finn didn't exactly have anything to be ashamed of.

"There. All set…" he meant for it to be a cheery statement, but it came out sensual and low, so that he almost failed to recognise his own voice.

They both adjusted on the sheets, Finn's arms on either side of him as he lined himself up with Kurt's opening. The man was looking at him with lust-dark eyes, but when Kurt placed a hand on his chest, his heart was hammering away.

"It's all right, Finn. I… I want you to. Just do it."

"Will you… will you let me say it, this time?"

"Let you say what?"

Finn bit his lip. "I love you. Don't be mad. I just… I can't do this if… I tried random sex. It's not for me. And you matter, so much. So I don't wanna mess this up."

Kurt tried to get his laboured breathing in check, but he was unable to help the strangled half-sob in his throat and—now was _not_ the right time to cry, damn it. He made it, just barely.

"I…love you too, you stupid adorable football-minded dork. Don't even pretend like you don't know."

"Okay. I won't." Finn's smile was soft and happy.

"Actually, it would be safe to say that if I haven't been able to stop until now, it won't probably happen anytime soon, so—so don't waste any time being afraid. You won't mess it up. You can't."

Finn nodded, and there were no other words after that: just a quiet room, and the impossibly loud sound of mingling breaths as Finn slowly pushed inside, careful, never stopping until he bottomed out, resting his forehead in the crook of Kurt's neck, shivering.

"Is it— you okay…?"

"Yes," Kurt responded, his voice choked as he gradually adjusted to the sensation of being utterly stretched and filled. "Yes, you—go ahead."

So Finn did, sliding back before pushing back in, once, then twice, then again, a little deeper every time. The friction and burn of it were uncomfortable, as always, but Kurt busied himself by looking at Finn, who had his head thrown back, obvious pleasure etched on his handsome face, and was groaning softly.

"God, Kurt, it's—you—_God,_you feel amazing… I have to—can I? Please, just-"

"Yes," Kurt sighed, running his hands up Finn's tense arms. "God, yes, please."

Immediately, Finn swallowed once and pulled back completely—and then he all but slammed back in, getting Kurt's prostate good and proper and drawing a keening cry from the man under him.

"_God!_ Finn, again—please, just—fuck…"

The curse made Finn's eyes widen in surprise for a split second before he complied, falling into a fast pace, hips thrusting into Kurt again and again, their moans getting mixed up in a strangely harmonic way.

"I'm not going to… damn it, Kurt, you're so fucking _tight_, I never even—I'm just…" Finn gasped.

"Right there with you…" Kurt replied in a thin, breathy laugh. "Just… please, a little more… it's so good, I have to…"

Finn nodded abruptly, cutting him off. Then he grabbed Kurt's wrists and pinned them above his head, keeping them in place with a strong hand, while his other hand found its way down to Kurt's aching erection, stroking it and pumping it in time with his thrusts.

"Ah…! Oh, hell—_Finn…_" Kurt arched up into his touch, his eyes fluttering closed as he let his legs ride higher up, knees almost brushing against Finn's shoulders, the angle laying him utterly open.

"Yes. Yeah… God, Kurt, this is-" Whatever Finn meant to say next got lost in a hoarse cry when the change in position drove him deeper inside Kurt's ass, which he didn't even think was _possible._

After that they both lost it, gasping, shaking, Finn pounding harder and harder into Kurt's body as Kurt moaned and writhed beneath him, rising to meet each thrust and trying to push himself into Finn's hand at the same time.

Near-painful pleasure crested in him wave after wave, his throat burning everytime he drew in a gulp of air, and the he was unravelling, fingers digging into his lover's shoulder hard enough to leave marks, as he finally threw his head back and came, with a helpless, _loud_ cry of "God, yes, _yes_, oh—_Finn!_"

The orgasm rippled through his body, making him clench hard around Finn's cock without even meaning to, and that was all it took for Finn to lose it and come inside him, muffling a sobbing cry into Kurt's neck.

They remained still for what seemed like the longest time, still shivering, chests heaving with their panting breaths, the sweat cooling on their feverish skin, Kurt's fingers combing through Finn's hair lovingly.

Eventually the man raised his head from its hiding place, directing a goofy, smitten smile at Kurt.

"Wow, Kurt, that was… oh man, it was-"

"Amazing,"Kurt agreed, kissing his lips chastely. "Totally amazing."

"I was going to go with 'awesome', but I guess that doesn't quite cut it," Finn laughed.

Kurt smacked him on the shoulder weakly. "You brute. One day or other you'll be arrested for your insistent maiming of the English language."

"Whatever. You're sexy when you're wordy."

"Finn!" That had him breaking into giggles, as if he actually was – oh, God – a love-giddy teenager, and… yeah, okay, that didn't feel half-bad.

Finn carefully slid out of him, kissing him on the forehead in apology when Kurt winced from the mild soreness, and then they just lay there, cuddling, their bodies snug against each other; the outside world and everyday life just a background, something of no importance in their perfect bubble.

"So, I was thinking… would it be okay if I came back to New York with you? Moved back in?"

Kurt didn't consider the question seriously for the first few seconds, mostly because Finn was kissing his belly button, and actually – God bless the dopey fool – sticking his nose in it. When he caught up to the words, he blinked, startled.

"You… you want us to live together?"

"Worked well enough before," Finn shrugged. "Better than with any girlfriend I ever had, for sure."

Kurt shook his head slowly, but not in negation. "Things are different now, you realise?" he said softly. "With… with this, whatever we're calling it… It can't be like it was before."

"I know. I was actually counting that one as a plus."

Kurt peered at him for a few long moments, trying to figure out where the inevitable catch was.

"So… you want us to live together… as boyfriends?"

"Why not? Let's see if it works out. Uh, if that's cool with you?" Finn's easy, guileless smile left no room for deceit. It tugged at Kurt's heartstrings so hard it almost hurt, in all the right ways.

"Say it. Please, Finn, I… I need to hear you say it." He tried to keep his voice and breaths steady, not succeeding half as well as he would have liked, his eyes trained stubbornly into Finn's chocolate ones.

Finn smiled, warm and soft, looking back at him for a moment in silence, then touched a fingertip to Kurt's nose.

"I take you, Kurt Hummel."

And that had to be the shortest vow in the history of civilised weddings, but it held everything Kurt would ever need to hear.

* * *

><p><strong>~The End~<strong>


End file.
